Who Spends A Million In Panama?
Sometimes murder isn’t as bad as it seems.
“There are four kinds of Homicide: felonious, excusable, justifiable and praiseworthy.” Ambrose Bierce
Using a key to open the door, Palmer stood in the front foyer and looked around. It was a nice place, marble floor, Sunset Boulevard staircase, crystal chandelier up above. He moved the roses he had behind his back from one hand to the other. There were exactly fifteen. Palmer always followed orders to the letter. It was his trademark.
A wide set of stairs off to the right led to the lower level. A big Golden Retriever appeared, barked once, then ambled up, wiggling around Palmer’s legs. He petted the dog and rubbed its ears. “Hey, Georgie,” Palmer said. “How’s my boy?”
His head was bald and polished, eyebrows like caterpillars.
A man appeared at the bottom of the stairs, shirt open, showing a hairy chest. His head was bald and polished, eyebrows like caterpillars. As soon as he saw Palmer, his eyes darted around. “What the hell do you want?” he said loudly. “Get out of here before I call the cops.”
“Take it easy, Stanz,” Palmer said.
Stanz came up the stairs, pulling out his cellphone. He started punching the keys, pacing back…
